I could not escape the feeling I was missing something, that I was not being told something I should have been told… a long time ago. I could not stop playing the memory of my meeting with Irving over and over in my mind, trying to find a gesture I had missed, a word or phrase I had overlooked.

I went into his office, and left as the sun set an hour later with no more or no less information or knowledge than going in. I felt just as confused and bitter over my frustration. I had seen that same uncomfortable, untelling expression that left me wondering why he was scowling, why he'd made that odd noise in his throat and looked quizzically at his bookcase when I told him I just remember voices, and asked if it was normal to hear them after your Harrowing. No answers, just questions. Just curious, baffling looks.

One hundred million questions pounding in my skull. I wanted them gone, and wanted this entire mess over with. I'd never anticipated such… egregious, fantastic frustration accompanying something so simple as a Harrowing. You take your test, you pass it (or fail), and you move your trunk to the upper level (or to the graveyard/Tranquil dorm, which is pretty much the same thing). That's it. That's all there is to it, or all there should be, but of course mine had to be the difficult one. I had to be the one where I was left staring at contemplative, silent faces who didn't know much more than I had about what exactly happened in that chamber. Why it happened the way it did.

Why were you on the floor?

Asking myself it for the twenty-second time was not helping. I groaned and rolled over in my bed, trying to rid myself of thought. Clear my head. Empty it. Cool, calm, empty. The more I recited the words, the quieter it became. The questions stopped, and silence fell over me. I was lulled by it, comforted by it. But that didn't change how unnerved I was by my new sleeping quarters.

A slight shift of noise somewhere in the distance and I shot up out of my bed, eyes darting about and a threatening glow forming around my palm to prepare and strike whatever dare try and attack me in the middle of the night. My accusatory gaze scanned over the room with violent, needy practice, and fell upon a small mouse darting over the stretch of my carpet. Oh.

"Bloody rodent.." I growled through gritted teeth before swinging my legs over the edge of my bed and planting my feet on the floor. The mouse squeaked and lurched away from the disturbance and scampered under my bed. Just my luck. I heaved another irritable sigh, just imagining the disgusting little rat making a nest in my undergarments and twisted my face into a disgusted snarl.

"Oh no you don't," I muttered while flipping around to lay face-down on my mattress and hang my shoulders over the edge to find the blasted creature. As I wrapped my hands around the framework of my bed and tilted my head over the side, I was met by a nearly-impenetrable darkness. I narrowed my gaze.

"Where are you.." I whispered to myself, searching for a pair of tiny black eyes in the shadows. I heard a shuffling noise, and glanced at the furthest corner under my bed. "Helloo.." I beckoned, hoping to either lure or scare the scrap of fur out from under my bed. I could hear a scratching noise. Maybe I'd mistaken it for a mouse-was it a rat, perhaps? Disgusting, flea-bitten vermin that they were. Another noise. That sounded loud.

Much louder than I intended, actually. I frowned as the shuffling and scratching grew even louder, then accompanied by a very audible squeak. I felt a small lurch in my chest. Fear. Why was I suddenly afraid? It was nothing but a small, inferior mouse. Rat. A rodent or something, but nothing that could harm me.

I continued to stare at the blank space where I heard continued shuffling, and finally, finally saw a shape move in the darkness. Well that was bigger than I thought… I mused to myself when I noticed how large it was. It had it's back to me. I hoped it wasn't a terribly large rat. Did a bigger rodent perhaps sneak into the tower somehow and get under my bed?

The animal shifted, twisting around to face me. I could see the shape of a round skull, then tiny paws-or were they hands?-held up to its face. It moved to face me, slowly. Carefully. Tentatively. I saw a pair of black, beady eyes staring back at me. Something jolted in my chest and warned me-told me not to disturb it. To get away. Yet my curiosity compelled me forward, and I reached out a dumb, intrusive hand towards the creature. It's black, beady eyes were so familiar and so haunting. I felt entranced by it, curious little thing. Little girl..

As I reached out to touch her, to comfort her and help her, the black eyes turned to molten fire. Flames burst from her mouth and eyes and leaked down her ashen face. She was no little girl, but a monster. A twisted reflection. I screamed and felt an ashen arm spring out and wrap around my wrist, dragging me forward and into the depths. Dragging me under.

I felt such a deep fear, one I had never known, engulf me like a great wave and sink me down into a pit of terror. I screamed for my life, and I screamed for a fear I did not understand, only felt. I only understood I wanted away from her, that thing, whatever she was, whatever it was. A horrible, banshee-like shriek was erupting from her elongated mouth, breathing out in heat-waves from the fire that seemed rooted from her chest. I wanted away from her, I wanted it gone; the fear, the pain, the terror.

I screamed and struggled and pulled, yet every new jerk seemed to engulf me more into the shadows. I could see nothing now, nothing around me. The bed had been replaced by shadows, and I was twisting in every direction to get away. I felt dry sobs choking my own breath as I begged her to let me go, to release me and leave me alone. Her eyes were so close, so close I felt the heat and the pain and the agony of her own heart. Her own breath. Her own screams.

Isthalla… little Isthalla.

My Little, foolish Isthalla.

"ISTHALLA!" I stopped mid-breath as my eyes flew open and I found myself staring up at the ceiling. My voice hurt, and in the back of my ringing mind I felt the sensation of a freshly-broken scream on its last leg, fading away. My heart was pounding, skin on fire. Head cleaved in two. My eyes flew to who held me down, and found a pair of terrified brown eyes.

"C-Cullen?" I trembled, too terrified to believe I was awake now. It had all felt so real, seemed so real. How had I ended up here? I couldn't have fallen asleep; this was a trap. I still felt the hair on my body standing on end, and every muscle still contracted and tensed in preparation to strike and to withdraw all at once. He screwed up his face and stared at me in a way I still could not understand. I could not even think about it. I couldn't-

"I-Isthalla," he choked out. His voice sounded withered beyond his age and worn like sandpaper. It sounded like he'd been screaming at me until his voice had become hoarse. Perhaps he had. I noticed a dampened, red spot on his forehead and felt my entire attention suddenly shift to the fact he was hurt.

"You're bleeding," I noted. The first thing that came to my mind. I looked back at him, and wondered if he was either going to cry or scream. It looked like both. He did neither, and merely fell back into his chair with a great, shuddering breath of what was either exasperation or pure relief. He looked exhausted.

"Maker…" was the only thing I heard him whisper into his hands while bowing his head to hide, to curl up and keep his face shielded from me by his armor. I still felt the reeling effects on me, but wearing away with each passing second I remembered I was awake now. It had been a dream-nothing but a bad dream. My attention moved from worrying about Cullen attacking me to the fact I might have accidentally broken something without realizing it-and while asleep, no less. Even I didn't think I was capable of such things.

"Cullen?" I tested, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder and make sure he would not collapse or shatter into a thousand pieces. The moment my fingers brushed his armor, he jolted and shoved the chair back a good foot. His eyes flew up to me, casting fear and mistrust in my direction. I felt suddenly so wounded by that look, that same look I'd brushed off as annoying at least three times since yesterday morning when I had my Harrowing. So why was it so hurtful now?

Because he looked at me with a different fear now. A fear that labeled me as a danger, and as a threat to himself and to others. It was the look of a templar considering that split-second decision if I should be labeled an abomination and put to a miserable death for something I still was not entirely aware of.

Even after he realized I was not hurting him, he still kept himself away, and only allowed a little faltering to come upon his expression, but did not recoil. Maker's breath, what had I done to the man? I was as terrified as he was, yet he looked at me like I was prepared to suck out his soul.

"P-Please-" he began in a choke, then stopped himself. He was breathing so quickly, so fearfully I still had that nagging curiosity as to why he seemed so exhausted. He was sweating, his eyes wearied. His voice still sounded dry and overused. He held out a hand to me as if to keep me away, then dropped it when I silently noted that he was shaking. He swallowed hard. "A-Are you… awake now?" he tested. He was slowly coming back down from whatever pitch he'd been on, as was I. I wrinkled my forehead.

"Of course I am," I answered mindlessly. I did not understand why he was asking such dumb questions, now that my mind was becoming my own again. I shook my head to rid it of the splitting pain and numb voices. They needed to leave me alone for a while. "How would I be asleep when I am clearly awake, templar?" I asked irritably while putting a hand to my head and shutting my eyes away from the candlelight. The light burned my head, my eyes, and my skin. It hurt to look at it. I sighed.

"Are you... sure?" he asked again. Still that tentative fear in his voice; I was really beginning to get annoyed now that I was fully awake and aware of my world-and oh, what an unsettling world it was. The questions came back with biting force. Asking. Prodding. Annoying.

"Must I write a consent form so that your foolish inquiries may be settled?" I snapped while continuously rubbing my temples. My eyes flicked up to find his face in the candlelight. His fear turned into confusion, and back to that familiar and less-annoying expression of sheepish disgruntlement. I could handle that side of him at least a little better.

He shook his head, unable to form the words. It was a foolish, dumb reply. Despite the normality returning to such a situation, as well as the familiarity of such bickering, I could not ignore what I'd seen in his eyes when I'd awoken. Something… was wrong. I needed to know before he got smart enough not to tell me and instead report it to his captain.

"Cullen," I asked uneasily after a long, uncomfortable pause. He'd seemed to gather himself enough to form sentences (I hoped), and answered my call with an obedient turn of his head to look at me. His eyes were honest and pleading-full of puppy-dog loyalty I remembered well. "I-" my words stopped short as I chewed on my tongue and considered the nicest way to ask. Was there a nice way? I wasn't very familiar with it.

"Are you… uh…. Okay?" That could've gone better. Now I sounded dumb and foolish. Great. I was intending to try and sound… sincere. Yet my sincerity seemed to be overshadowed by an icy awkwardness I could never escape, leaving my words as nothing more than a dumb, meaningless utter. A deeply confused frown pulled on Cullen's lips.

"Me?" he asked, shocked. My split second of sincerity was quickly shot through by ferocious impatience. Oh, for the love of-! Why, in Maker's name, did every single blasted templar have to be such a stuttering, mindless buffoon? And for another thing, why did everyone still insist on looking at me like that? Talking to me in such a manner? Like they would burst into tears or scream at any moment! Honestly, I was sick of it. Sick of Cullen and his stupid, foolish, ridiculous little frown and puppy-dog expression that made me want to shoot a fire curse up his arse. Then he'd have something to make such a stupid face about.

"Yes, you! Cullen, Templar. Stuffed-up-arse! Chantry boy! However you like it! Last time I checked you were the only other person in this room!" I barked. "Is it so shocking I wish to ask why you were, yet again, hovering over me like a demented child looking as if he were about to be gobbled up by a wolf? Why you were , yet again, in my room at night, watching me sleep!" I shouted.

Either I'd finally offended him or he was too stupid to answer. Either way I didn't care. I was irritable, I hadn't slept very well, and I had had just about enough with the whole damn thing. I was ready for this supposed inside whispers about my Harrowing that I clearly wasn't allowed to know about to be over.

My snarl faded to a faint frown when he didn't respond. He simply stared, and continued to stare after that. Even after my anger had faded to irritation, and even after that had faded into mere indifference. It was at the point I sunk back onto to bed and laid my head on the pillow, sighing out the rest of my frustrations that he dared even move again.

I heard his chair creak as he shifted it to sit back by my bedside, and the sound of his armor clinked as he moved to lean forward and rest his elbows on his knees. I shut my eyes.

"Are we alone?" I murmured in a weary, empty voice. Cullen nodded.

"Yes, well enough," he spoke. I felt the pressure rise just slightly in my chest as I considered what I was about to do.

"Can I tell you something?" I asked after another too-long pause of silence. He waited to see if it was a trick question, then slowly nodded, unsure.

"..I-If you like." I had a random, brief thought that his stutter was actually kind of sweet. It suited him, however ridiculous it may be. Cullen. Stutter. Seemed to fit together like magic.

Magic..

I sighed then mustered, "If I tell you something, can you promise it's just between us?" I had hope that my request might fall on intent ears, that for once he would ignore the blaring protocol I knew too well when reciting such a statement. I even managed to give him a pleading glance, but I saw the twist of confusion between duty and friendliness falling on deaf ears.

"You know I cannot make that promise," he whispered. "If it is something that could endanger anyone, protocol demands I-"

"..demands that you report it to your superior. Yes, I know," I groaned. I let the consideration sink in, and weighed the possibility of getting in trouble. Well, I couldn't be any worse-off than I was at this point, being babysat by a templar all hours of the day (and night, apparently). As it was, I was in trouble already. It didn't really matter much if I told him about some silly little dreams I'd had.

"..B-But I'll do my best to believe what you tell me is nothing harmful to the others in the tower," he added. A nice thought. I covered back over my eyes with my forearm to block out the light and try and rid myself of the headache and fever. A sigh escaped my lips.

"I've been having these.. dreams.." I began. Wow, riveting start. Very articulate, he's sure not to believe you're a lunatic now. I bit my tongue for good measure and continued on, praying to the Maker for more literacy and poise in my sentences than that rubbish babble. I heard him shift forward in anticipation.

"Not that they mean anything," I added quickly, "but, I dream of the same thing, over and over. There's a woman in my dreams." The dreams I began to recall as if a vivid memory, so clear-cut and precise I could map out every strand of her raven hair, each little wrinkle-line at the edge of her lips where she use to smile. A hauntingly familiar woman I did not know the name of, and feared to know all at once.

"A… woman?" Cullen asked tentatively. I removed my arm to look at him and found a peculiar, slightly embarrassed look on his face. Oh, Maker-

"Honestly, do you really think I'd tell you if I had a dream like that!?" I hissed. His face went red.

"Well, I-I," he began to stumble all over his words. For Maker's sake! I couldn't believe him. Too irritated by the prospect of taking my precious time to be annoyed about it, I shoved my thoughts to the side and continued on, ignoring the fact he was turning a completely new shade of crimson by the very minute.

"Your wandering fantasies aside," I scolded, "it's not a dream, even. I'd call it more like a nightmare, because it's the same scenes, the same moments. And every time I feel closer and farther away with each new change I discover. It's like a… riddle."

I was sitting up now, my eyes wide with racing thoughts and recalled a few scenes from the dreams to him. I had my hands clasping my skull as if expecting to pull the memories out with my fingertips to show them to him. My eyes darted back and forth.

"I can't wrap my mind around it; I can't seem to. Though the only singular thing I know is that she was a blood mage. Or this woman, in my dreams. Something about blood mages, it has to be," I rambled on, her face becoming more vivid with every second I continued to describe her to Cullen. Pale skin, long, elegant fingers, a little sneer on the corner of her red lips. Dark, penetrating eyes that glinted crimson under the sunlight. Red symbols. Something about red. Red. So much of it.

It was the point I was rocking back and forth and clutching my head, trying to find her name, something invisible I couldn't grasp, that I fell back to reality and felt an armored hand brush my arm. I looked up and found myself staring at the slightly uneasy face of Cullen. He looked pale.

"Isthalla you… do realize what you're saying?" he asked in a small whisper. I furrowed my brow.

"What, that I seem to be plagued by dreams about some woman I don't even know?" I retorted incredulously. Cullen's shock only deepened.

"A b-blood mage," he forced out the words like a poison on his lips. I frowned.

"Okay, a magical woman in my dreams who happens to be a blood mage," I offered with a blunt shrug. This didn't seem to satisfy him, and instead he reacted by shaking his head and burying it into his hands with a scoff.

"I just… can't seem to grasp this," he sighed. "You don't know her?" he asked. I frowned and screwed up my expression.

"No?" I said. "She's a figment of my imagination, Cullen. Not real." He didn't seem entirely convinced.

"You're sure?" he asked again. The words echoed in my mind and again, I felt that familiar stab of shallow fear. A remembered voice that whispered in the back of my mind.

You don't remember me, do you?

"N-No," I forced out before I felt the pause completely leave me. Cullen really didn't seem convinced now. I could see the tentative, unwilling expression in his eyes and the taut form of his mouth, but before he had a chance to speak up another templar stepped forward into the candlelight and crowded my bedroom one too many.

"I'm here to relieve you for the twilight hour shift," he announced once his clunky, irritatingly loud metal had let us know just how important he was. I winced.

"Wonderful! Yet more talking suits of armor to make sure I don't breath incorrectly. Am I allowed to at least change my undergarments in privacy?" I asked as the entire mood and expression of the room shifted, engrossed with sudden irritability up the arse. My flat, unamused expression seemed to compel the new templar into a new type of disgust even I wasn't aware of. Even more prude than Greagoir, by the looks of it. He seemed entirely unamused by my jokes, and even worse-he didn't look like the very talkative type. Great, I'd have a bloody brick wall for my next babysitter. Cullen was a least a little more interesting for conversation. Cullen-

I grabbed his arm before he could follow suit and exit around the side of the bookcase with the other templar. He jumped at my touch and turned to look at me, full of a questioning fear and subtle something-else I didn't quite know how to place. I frowned a bit.

Nothing needed to be said, only a look. A penetrating, challenging, keep-this-to-yourself look that seemed to get the proper message across and ended with a small grimace as he broke away from my grasp and followed after the other templar. I smiled once he left my line of vision and disappeared around the corner.

In truth, I never did find the templar boys to be a very bright lot. You would assume after fourteen years they would have caught on when I was lying to get what I wanted and when I was actually being sincere (which was less than never). I waited until I heard Cullen's dragging, reluctant footsteps exiting into the main hallway to turn and whisper a small, secretive incantation into my hands as I pulled out a small bag and tossed in on the floor. A black smoke erupted and bloomed up to the ceiling almost instantly.

A few seconds later the other templar finally got the sense knocked into him to come speeding back around the corner, but by then the smoke was already in the air and I'd disappeared, right past his grabbing hands and out into the cover of darkness in the hallway. I almost wanted to point and laugh at his stupidity, but it seemed like a waste of time. I stole a glance back at Cullen, who only offered a baffled, gawking look at me as I flashed by him and grinned, then streaked down the hallway and into the darkness, merging within it as a ghost. Poor thing. He had so much to learn still. A lot, in fact.

A terrible amount.

But for now, it was time for a midnight visit to an old friend.